


Robin in the Batcave with the Rope

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Batman clue, Board Games, Clue (board game), Crack, Drugs, Drunkenness, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, It's funny to make fun of his height and temper, Jon and Eddie have lost it, Kidnapping, Kidnapping Robin for fun and humor, Riddles, Teasing, Vape, bird riddles, clue, fear toxin, slight fear toxin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 01:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13648332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Edward Nygma and Jonathan Crane get together once a month to hang out, play games, and get drunk. This month they've decided to add someone else to their game: one unwilling, angry, and grumpy Robin.





	Robin in the Batcave with the Rope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Laquilasse (laquilasse)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laquilasse/gifts).



> Thanks to Laquilasse for asking for this, helping plan it, and giving me fab dialogue. Another thanks to Audreycritter for also helping plot.

“I’ve been out two weeks.” Edward said, moving a small batman figurine across the hall and into what used to be the billiard room, but Eddie had changed into the batcave with the ingenuity of paper, a pen, and some tape. 

Gotham had a million and one stores selling Batman crap of all kinds, but did they have Batman Clue? No. He’d thought it a travesty, and had altered the game himself one night in a somewhat drunk haze with Crane cheering him on. They’d taken turns naming things and drawing pictures to go over the old, boring, rooms. Then they’d set on the pieces deciding most of the weapons were fine, but the pegs? Those had to go. If this was going to be Batman Clue they needed a Batman. And a Robin. And an insufferably cheery Nightwing. Then they had to round off the group with a Batgirl, Red Hood, and Red Robin. Not that they ever played with those unless they had the full group together, but Edward refused to have anything but a complete game. 

The frown on his Batman’s face had been drawn over into a grin with a pink pen, and the cape covered in glitter, both the results of a previous month’s drunken antics. The Robin had needed replacing after Crane threw it at a wall in retaliation for a black eye. Most of the others were unmarred, except for Nightwing, which someone-he couldn’t remember who- had thought it would be hilarious if they drew a smiling face on his left butt cheek.  

Crane shook a pair of dice in his palm and sent them rolling across the game board, landing on snake eyes. He scowled and moved the new Robin figure one space out of the Arkham and a square to the left. 

“So?” he asked pushing the dice towards Edward. 

Edward knew where he was trying to get the figure, to the Sewer where he could guess if it was a location Eddie had or not. He didn’t, which meant Crane was going to have to take another shot. They’d only just started playing, and the booze was crap, but Edward could see the sheen already glazing Crane’s eyes. He was terrible at Clue, but it had been Eddie’s turn to pick, and this was partial retaliation for the forced hours of Operation the month before, and partially an excuse to get the other man roaring drunk. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, “So, we should celebrate.” 

Crane eyed him, “With what?” 

He reached down a pulled out a bottle of scotch he’d gotten off of Penguin at a poker match, “I thought we’d start with this.” 

The scowl on Crane’s face disappeared in favor of a grin. 

They were two games in, and half the bottle was gone when he had the idea. Crane had just passed him the vape stick, loaded with some of his special fear gas. The kind that didn’t quite scare you but got the blood boiling and made everything a little wibbly wobbly. He took a deep breath in of the stuff, letting it fill his lungs and screw with his brain as he watched Crane move his Robin piece closer to Riddle Town where he could call the victory. 

Edward hated losing. He especially hated losing to the Bat Brat and his Bat Dad. 

“Hey, you know what would be funny?” He said, eyes still on the piece. It was turning to him now, grinning that stupid I-could-kill-you-with-my-daddys-gold-spoon grin he had whenever he saw him. His own Batman piece had crossed his arms, and was daring him with the quirk of his mouth, those stupid pink lips saying ‘Come on, Eddie, make me chase you. Let’s have a fun night to celebrate your two weeks out of the big house.’

He didn’t even wait for Jon’s response, but barreled forward with the thought “We should kidnap Robin and lead the Bat on a wild goose chase.” 

He could see the consideration on Jon’s face. He knew the man was remembering his irritation over the black eye, and his short stint in Arkham facilitated by the bat and his brat just a few nights prior (Eddie had broken him out. There was no way they were missing another game night).

“We could even tease the brat.” Edward said, his voice singsong, “You know how ruffled his feathers get when someone calls him small.” 

Jon was nodding now, “The little prick. That brat issoo mean.” he slurred, glaring at his own piece down on the board. 

“Less do it.” Crane leaned forward, fist pounding the table, and sending the pieces clattering to their sides, “I’d like to teach himma lesson in manners.” 

* * *

Damian was furious. Slightly drugged, trussed up like a child taken by ametures, and _ seething _ . He had no idea how they’d gotten him. He’d been by Batman’s side, then they’d been split by a double alert of Riddler and Scarecrow attacks. Damian turned around to go after Riddle and his world had gone black. 

He’d woken up what he guessed was Riddler’s home base, by the look of all the paraphernalia scattered across the room, green and black question marks, newspaper clippings, and an old circus game set up in a corner. He was bound, and left in his own corner and seemingly forgotten. He’d tried uselessly to work at the knots on his ropes. Whatever they’d given him was slightly paralyzing, the movement in his fingers relegated to a twitch. 

He’d been there over half an hour already and he still had no idea what they wanted him for. The two idiots were playing a game of all things. Something idiotic with revolvers and lead pipes and places named after Gotham locations. They were giggling like schoolboys and had finished off a bottle of alcohol between the two of them when they finally ended the game. 

“We should start writing the riddles.” Crane said, pushing his chair back from the table, “Lemme get the paper and pens. I wanna write a few. I’ve been practicing.” 

Damian rolled his eyes upward and prayed that Father would find him soon. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. 

“Aww, lookit the poor little bird. Your feathers already ruffled?” Nygma was in front of him then, his breath stinking of alcohol, and something else, flowery and a bit familiar. 

Damian spat at him in response. At least he could still do that, and felt a rush of pride at the defiant move. The man wiped his face and frowned. 

“That wasn’t very nice. You know we’re gonna send your Bat round and round in circles looking for you. But guess what?” he asked, a smile breaking over his face, “He’s not gonna find you. You’re going to stay right here, Crane wants you to learn you a lesson or two.” 

The way he said lesson or two sounded more like lesson for you, as his words slurred together suddenly, but Damian caught the meaning easily enough. He worked at keeping his breathing even. Father wouldn’t know that the rules were different this time. That he wasn’t actually looking for Damian, but chasing shadows. He was going to be stuck with two drunk maniacs either until the drugs wore off, or his father figured things out. 

A hand patted his cheek, “Don’t worry your little head.” Nygma giggled at the word little, “That’ll be a while yet. We’ve got riddles to write. What’s like a writing desk?” he frowned, “No wait, that’s not right. What’s a raven? Crap. Jon where’d you put your vape thing? I need my head clear.” he grumbled, straightening and moving back to the table where he lifted a silver object and sucked in it’s contents, his face relaxing with it. 

Damian thought they’d forgotten him again as Crane returned with a stack of white cards, and markers. He wasn’t sure why they’d opted out of the usual cut and paste style of Nygma’s riddles, but maybe they still had enough sense left to realize someone would cut off a finger if they tried that. Too bad. Watching them flail over a lost limb would make Damian’s night. 

Nygma scribbled something down on a card and hopped up to skip over to Damian, his body seemed a little wobbly, but still fairly certain in his steps. 

“What weighs six ounces, sits in a tree, and is dangerous?” he asked with a grin. 

Damian scowled at him. 

“Come oooon Bird Boy. We didn’t bring you here so you could pout. Now guess. What weighs six ounces, sits in a--” he was cut off by a shout from the table. 

“Oooh, it’s Robin!” Crane yelled before devolving into giggles, and pointing at Damian.

Damian’s scowl deepened, “I do not weigh six ounces.” he hissed. 

Nygma ruffled his hair, “You’re tiny, pipsqueak. Not as small as Nightwing was when he was in the scaly pants, but small enough. The Bat’ll get this one for sure.” 

Damian might be mostly paralyzed, but he still had enough movement to attempt to bite the idiots hand, and when Nygma moved his fingers to bop Damian’s nose he took his chance, catching flesh between his teeth a moment before Nygma yowled and yanked his hand away. The backhand strong enough to bruise Damian received in response was worth it for the pitiful frown on the Riddler’s face. He looked as if Damian had snatched a piece of candy from his hand and he was shocked it had happened. 

“I think it’s about time for that lesson, Birdy Boy.” Nygma growled, grabbing Damian by the front of his tunic. 

“Leave the brat alone, Eddie.” Crane called from the table, catching Nygma’s attention. “We can mess with him once we’ve sent the bat on his chase. I’ve come up with another riddle and I want you to look over it.” 

Nygma looked from Damian to Crane and back before, “What is it?” He was still holding Damian aloft and it was getting uncomfortable. He was considering insulting the man again just to get things moving when Crane answered.

“What’s angry, small, rhymes with bobbin and all tied up?” 

Damian was dropped to the ground like a forgotten toy, “Jon that’s terrible, bobbin? Do you want him to figure it out right away? Besides, you didn’t even give a location.” 

He resisted telling Nygma he’d done the same thing with his riddle as the man walked away. Instead he used what little mobility he had to scoot himself further down the wall he’d landed against in an attempt at finding a comfortable position. He was going to kill both of these imbeciles the moment he could.

Nygma snatched the card from Crane and tore it in half, “You’ve got to do better, don’t you want the bat chasing his tail?”

“Wouldn’t that make him a dog and not a bat?” Crane asked and they both fell into a fit of laughter. 

Damian had no idea what made that seem so funny, and he didn’t care. He was pretty sure the drug they’d given him was starting to wear off a bit. If he could just last a little longer he’d be able to manage his ropes and then he’d be out of there, leaving the two idiots to laugh themselves to death. For the moment he’d settle for plotting their slow painful demises. Perhaps he could convince his mother that the world would be better without these two lunatics in it. If she ended their lives father couldn’t blame Damian. 

Nygma seemed to catch his breath and turned to Damian again, "Hey, Bridy Boy, just how many variations of tiny do you think we can manage to get the Bat to guess at tonight?"

Damian smirked, "Why don't you use the size of your di--"   


"LITTLE BATS SHOULDN'T BE SO CRASS" Crane shouted pointing a finger at him.

Damian grinned brightly at them, “Make me stop then.” 

Crane moved to stand, but a hand from Nygma stopped him, and held up a quarter, the coin gleaming in the lamplight, “Jon, what weighs less than this and is spitting mad?” 

“What?” Crane snapped, still looking in Damian’s direction.

“A newly hatched robin.” Nygma cackled, he turned the screen of a laptop he’d been working on to show the fact to the other villain, “Ten bucks says the Bat’ll guess this right off.” he said, still laughing.

“Eddie, look.” Crane gasped, finger jabbing the screen, “We’ve got one of those in our very midst.” 

Damian had to squint to see, but it looked like Crane was pointing at a nest of screaming baby birds. 

"The resemblance is uncanny.” Nygma said, and picked up the computer, bringing it over so Damian could see it, “Which of the Bat’s brood are you? Me I’d say you’re either the screaming one, or that one that looks like it’s pissed off at the world.” 

“I am going to remove your fingers from your hands one joint at a time.” Damian spat.

“The pissed off one it is.” Nygma grinned and danced back over to the table. 

They spent another twenty minutes making fun of his height and building riddles. Half of them didn’t seem to make sense, but Damian wasn’t going to point that out. The more obvious it was the riddles weren’t real, the faster his father would catch onto what was going on and Damian could be home again drinking cocoa and telling Titus how stupid Gotham was. 

He felt the feeling coming back into his limbs as Crane was dispatched to hide a few riddles. Damian wiggled his fingers, and toes, then experimentally pulled his leg closer to his body. His arms felt looser too. His fingers worked the knot of his ropes slowly, but with more success than he’d had earlier. By the time Crane returned Damian had it undone. Both men were going over the second half of the riddles, flipping through the cards, their attention reserved for the cards themselves. 

Damian let the ropes fall away from his wrists, and pushed himself up against the wall, his legs wobbly, but seemed to hold him. The moment he took his hands away from the support of the wall and tried to take a step forward his legs gave out like paper hit by water and he fell forward, his arms too slow to catch himself. He landed with a thud and an oof, the air escaping his lungs as the met carpet so thin it might as well have been concrete. 

A hand grabbed the back of his tunic and dragged him up to see Nygma’s grinning face, “Having a little trouble there?” he asked. 

Crane was laughing hysterically, “OhmygoIcan’t-the baby bird can’t even walk. Don’t fall out of the nest, baby!” he yelled, his words loud and half there through his laughter. 

Damian’s face burned with shame, and he tried to push it down with thoughts of everything he’d do to them when he had the ability again, but it wasn’t working. The laughter was filling his ears and he was tired, tired of being made fun of and laughed at and unable to do anything. 

He found himself carried over to the table and sat in one of the chairs. Nygma cuffed his legs to those of the chair and his wrists to the arms, “Since it seems like our little drug’s not working so well anymore, let’s just keep you where we can see you, eh?” he said. 

“What’re we going to do with him over here?” Crane asked, “He’ll just bite at us and ruin everything.” He frowned, “In fact, I’m getting a little bored of him. Let’s just drop him somewhere and get back to our game. Or, maybe we could give him some fear toxin and watch him squirm, I brought a new mix I’ve been dying to try.” 

Nygma’s eyes lit up, and Damian felt something like dread curl in his stomach. 

“What if?” he asked, his voice vaguely conspiratorial, “What if he played with us?” 

Damian resisted the urge to groan. 

Crane raised an eyebrow at this, “Now, that’s a suggestion. What do you say, brat? Wanna play some clue?” 

“I cannot move, you imbeciles.” Damian answered.

Nygma waved off his excuse, “That’s fine, John will roll for you, and I’ll move your piece. You want Nightwing?” He lifted the piece and wiggled it in Damian’s face. 

He ground his teeth, “I do not wish to play.” 

Crane leaned forward and flicked his nose, Damian resisted the urge to bite him. The situation this time was too risky. They were bored, inhibited, and despite their lack of violence to him criminals of the worst kind. He didn’t want any new scars from this situation beyond that of watching two grown men act like idiots for hours. 

“Kid, it’s this or the fear gas.” Crane said, waving his hand arily, “We need something to entertain us.” 

“I would almost rather the gas.” Damian spat, at least then he wouldn’t have to pay attention to those two idiots any longer, “But yes, I will use Nightwing.” he sighed, knowing he was going to regret the decision.

“Excellent!” Nygma cried, and started setting up the board. “You’ve played Clue before, right?” 

“I have not.” Damian answered.

Both men stared at him slack jawed.

He set his mouth in a firm line and glared, “I do not have time for trivial things like board games.” 

“What kinda kid hasn’t played Clue?” Crane asked, “Or board games?”

Anger bubbled up inside him at this. Damian was sure there were children who had not played the game before. Others who had never played any. It could not be such a strange thing.

“Are you even a kid?” Nygma asked, reaching over to pinch Damian’s cheek, “I can’t believe it. You can’t be real. What does the Bat do with you brats? Keep you locked away and forced to train all day?”

His anger turned into something else. Something sour and painful in his chest. He wanted to go home. He wanted it to be Richard teasing him gently about games, and making him play them with him because ‘it was fun’ and ‘you have to try sometime’ not because he had been denied them growing up. Or because he had been denied a proper childhood. He did not want these men who did not know him, who had kidnapped him for sport, to think him less for how he had been raised. 

He was tired of this. Tired of being picked at and on. Tired of their barbs being sharper with every addition, even if they did not know it. Some kind of exhaustion washed over him, probably from their teasing and the drug they’d given him and his chest felt tight. 

He swallowed back the anger and fear and frustration and glared at them both. He would not let them get to him. He was better than that. He would keep his head until he either escaped or Father found him and then he would have his revenge. He was not a child to be kidnapped simply to be teased. He would show them, and perhaps he could beat them at their own game. He could take some pleasure in winning Clue, or at the very least irritating them while they played. He was not entirely helpless and he would prove that to them. 

“Does that even matter?” he asked, “I thought we were going to play Clue, or would you rather bore yourself with teasing a child?” 

This got both men back on track, Crane explaining the rules as he knew them, and Nygma finishing with the board, and handing out the pieces and cards. Damian knew right away he would not win this game, not with both men having full knowledge of his hand and moves, but that did not matter he would find some way of torturing these men, he just had to wait. 

It was when he was prompted to ‘guess if Eddie has the kitchen’ that he figured out just how to get back at them. He guessed, and guessed incorrectly, to which Crane cheered, “Shot! Take a shot!” 

Damian had no idea what he was talking about, but it became clear soon enough. Crane poured some of the alcohol they’d been drinking into a small glass and pushed it in Damian’s direction. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Drink it.” Crane said. 

“With what hands?” Damian asked, raising his fingers from the arms of the chair where they were tied down. 

Crane frowned at this and looked to Nygma who shrugged, “We could hold the glass for you to drink.” he suggested. 

“I refuse. Besides, you do not wish to give the other a chance to look at your cards.” Damian said quickly, knowing his chance was slim, “Uncuff one of my hands so I may play on my own and take the shot.” 

Crane eyed him, “That’d give you a chance to ‘scape.” he said. 

“Not with only one hand freed and the both of you here. You would notice me attempting to free myself.” Damian countered. 

“Brat’s right.” Nygma nodded, “Iss a good idea, and I know how you always look at my cards when I have to get up.” 

Crane looked offended for a moment before sighing and taking another swig of his drink, 

“Fiiiiine.” he said, “Un-cuff one of the brat’s hands.” 

Damian felt a sense of victory as the pressure on one wrist was released and he could move it at last. He rotated his wrist to help get some movement back into it as Nygma sat back against his chair. 

“Alright, Birdy, take your shot.” he said with a grin. 

Damian eyed the glass and lifted it, pouring the contents in his mouth. It tasted terrible, sour and disgusting. He held the liquid in his mouth without swallowing, but tilted his head back as if he had. Nygma’s grin split his face wide. 

“I can’t wait to see you drunk.” Nygma laughed before turning back to the game, “Jon, iss your turn, lets keep playing.” 

When both men looked away Damian dipped his head and spit the liquid out on the floor, straightening as soon as he’d done it and eyeing both men to make sure he hadn’t been noticed. They were bickering over the placement of the wrench and if Nygma had moved it or not. 

They went like this for two rounds of the game. Damian did better the second time, now that he no longer had both men aware of his cards, but he didn’t care about winning. He cared that both Nygma and Crane were growing more and more confused at how he hadn’t started to get drunk yet. Damian shrugged and suggested they were both lightweights, which inspired another round of shots. That one Damian didn’t have a chance to spit out and ended up swallowing, but it had been worth it to see the way their cheeks were coloring. 

“Stupid brat’s got a stomach like iron.” Crane slurred throwing the dice across the table. They rolled over and over until toppling off the wood pulling a swear from the man’s lips.

“Can’t even get a little buzzed. Stupid bird thinking he can drink us under the table.” He stood, his chair scraping away from the table as he went to retrieve the dice. 

When he got back he glared at Damian, “We should make him take an estra one for being so damn cheery.” he said, already pouring Damian another shot. 

He slammed it in front of Damian, some of the liquid sloshing out and onto his front, “Drink up.” he grinned, towering above him. 

Damian picked up the glass, but before he could pour it into his mouth again there was a crash from the building. 

Nygma swore, standing himself and shaking the whole table. “It’s the bat.” he said, scrambling for the pieces. “We gotta go.” 

The room’s door burst open to reveal both Batman and Nightwing stalking inside. Crane ran around the table and flipped it over towards the men, and Nygma took a handful of papers in his hand and started backing away from Batman as he moved towards them. Damian realized they must be the rest of the unsent riddles.

“Sorry we took your bird!” Nymga screamed and threw them in a flurry at Batman’s face.

Both he and Crane turned and ran straight towards one of the windows. Crane turned to break it with his shoulder but stumbled and tripped knocking both he and Nygma over into a pile of limbs and yells of “I can’t go back, I just got out!” and “Two weeks, what’ll Ivy say after only two weeks!”

Damian turned his attention away from them only because Nightwing was crouched in front of him, a smile on his face, “Hey kiddo, how you holding up?”

“Fine. Get me out of these.” he demanded, shaking the wrist still cuffed to the chair. 

Grayson rolled his eyes and leaned down to release the cuffs holding Damian’s feet in place, before reaching up to free Damian’s wrist. He caught sight of the surprise on Grayson’s eyes as he seemed to notice something about Damian, but he wasn’t worried about Grayson right now. He was out for blood. 

He was free and armed with the full use of his limbs. He jumped up, onto the chair. Then he leapt over Grayson, a war cry on his lips, his momentum sure to take him closer to the two idiots. A hand looped around his middle and pulled him back, clipping his wings in an instant. 

“Hold on a second.” Grayson was saying, and Damian found himself pressed for a second against his brother’s warmth then sat back down in the chair he’d just vacated.

Grayson was standing before him now, worry and confusion on his face, his fingers brushed at a tender spot on Damian’s cheek and he realized the blow Nygma had given him earlier must have begun bruising.

“I am fine.” Damian told him, leaning around to see what his father was doing. Had he already tied up both Nygma and Crane? Had Damian lost his chance at vengeance?

“You’re not.” Grayson’s voice was firm, “What did they do to you?” 

Damian swiped at his brother’s hand. “They tortured, drugged, and forced me to play an inane game. Now move so may enact my vengeance.” he tried to push past his brother but hands stopped him.

He went to glare at him, but couldn’t at the look of alarm on Grayson’s face. He blinked at him once, then set his mouth in a firm line. 

“No.” he said, “No, we’re leaving. I came to make sure you’re safe, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Damian opened his mouth to argue, but found himself lifted up off the chair and thrown over Richard’s shoulder. He was so shocked by the movement he didn’t think to struggle until they were moving out of the room, Nygma and Crane growing further as his brother hurried away. 

“No!” he shouted, “Release me, Grayson! You don’t know what they did! I must make them pay!” he pounded his fists against his brother’s back.

Part of his mind knew he looked like a child, and the other part didn’t care. It was concerned with the humiliation he’ been put through in the past hours and his desire for retribution. He settled for yelling at the two villains, screaming his promises of vengeance at them as Grayson pulled him out of the room. 

“Damian, Damian,  _ calm down _ .” Dick said, finally setting him down by the Batmobile, “What did they do to you?” his hands were cupping Damian’s face, the rubbery feel of the grips on his gloves somehow grounding him in a way nothing else had.

All of Damian’s anger and fury and embarrassment flooded out of him as he realized he was away. Away from the insanity of Crane and Nygma’s drunken haze. Away from the worry that things were going to get worse. Away from having to find ways to spit out every shot he was forced to take. Just away. 

He found his breath again, and leaned forward into his brother, letting his forehead rest against the blue of Grayson’s uniform, “Nothing.” he mumbled. “They didn’t do anything.”

Arms wrapped gently around him and he felt the air go out of Grayson’s chest as he sighed, “Alright, tell me what happened.” 

“They were drunk. They believed it would be funny to tease me, and make fun of my height.” Damian explained.

“And the drugging?” Grayson asked. 

“A mild paralytic. Crane threatened gas, but I agreed to play a stupid game instead. And then they forced me to take shots of horrible alcohol.” 

Grayson pulled away at that, “You’re not drunk are you?” 

Damian shook his head, “I spit it out when they were not looking.” he let himself smile, “They had no idea how I was holding my own against them.” 

Grayson matched his smiled, “That’s my boy.” then it disappeared as he realized something, “They made you play a death game? That’s twisted. I thought you said they didn’t do--”

Damian shook his head, “It was Clue, but with Batman figurines. They drew a smiley face on your rear.” 

Grayson sputtered and then laughed, his whole body shaking with mirth, “They drew a smiling face on my butt?” 

Damian pressed his lips together to hold back his own laugh, “Yes. They put a pink smile on Batman’s face as well.” 

He slid his eyes over to Grayson, “You will not let me return to the room?” 

“Nope.” his brother smiled, “You are staying put out here. Bruce can handle those two idiots.” 

“They called me short, Richard.” 

Grayson hummed. 

“In numerous ways.” He added, “I am sure you saw a few if Father shared any of the horrible riddles with you.” 

“Damian, it doesn’t sound like it was all that bad. Certainly not as terrible as it could have been.” 

"They insulted my honor, Grayson. They must die," Damian said, then amended, “Or as close to it as I can come without breaking my promise...do you think Father would let this slide?"

“I don’t think so, Little D.” 

Damian huffed, “So what then? Was I supposed to just lie there and take it?” 

Grayson grinned at him, “From what you’re telling me, you kind of did.” 

Damian spluttered, his mouth dropped open and he stared at his brother. Grayson only laughed, and tugged him close, into another hug. 

“It’s fine, laugh about it, kiddo. Sometimes that’s all you can do.” His arms tightened a bit, “Besides, you’re okay. You were kidnapped by Riddler and Scarecrow and you’re fine, you had a few crappy hours, but you’re okay.” 

Damian leaned into the hug and returned it. He wanted to apologize for worrying Grayson and his father. It hadn’t been his fault, but that did not stop the seed of guilt from growing in his stomach. 

“They were drunk. And utterly ridiculous. Can you believe they thought throwing paper at Batman would work?” 

Grayson chucked, “It was a really bad plan.” He pulled away and opened the door to the batmobile, “I’m really glad you’re okay.” 

Damian nodded, “Me too. Thank you for joining Father in coming for me.” 

Grayson reached out and ruffled his hair, “Of course, someone had to be there to stop you killing those guys.” 


End file.
